


The Poor Reconstruction of Memory

by valda



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Timelines, M/M, Memory Loss, Multi, Time is Weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-01 11:21:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4017871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valda/pseuds/valda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Earl and Carlos have a connection neither of them would have expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New, Yet Known

**Author's Note:**

> There was originally going to be more of this, but it just didn't happen. Still, I think you can enjoy the story without a real resolution, since it's fragmented by design.

Cecil was doing that thing again where he didn't remember Earl. It happened a lot. The fact that it happened a lot didn't make it easier to stomach, of course, but it at least let Earl know what to expect. He knew not to wave at him and say hello if they happened upon each other at the Ralph's, for example. He knew that if he was ever mentioned on Cecil's show, it would be as "Scoutmaster Harlan" and not "my childhood friend, Earl Harlan."  
  
In light of this, Earl chose a seat a respectful distance away from Cecil and the rest of the press. He liked coming to town meetings, staying informed about the goings-on in Night Vale. And anyway, it wasn't every day that an outsider came to town, let alone a scientist. Earl needed to know if this guy and his team were a threat.  
  
"Interloper!" he yelled along with the rest of the crowd as a man in a white lab coat stepped up to the podium.  
  
"Hello!" the man responded with a smile. He had rich, dark skin, a mess of shining black curls, golden eyes, and strikingly white, straight teeth. Was it possible for a person this perfect to exist?  
  
Earl blinked. He knew that smile, that hair, those eyes. He knew this man.  
  
He'd never seen this man before in his life.  
  
Memory was funny. Sometimes you forgot things. Sometimes you never knew them. Sometimes you knew them before you knew you knew them.  
  
Earl wondered which situation this was. Had he forgotten this man for an important reason? Was the man a danger to him?

He considered. The man's reaction to the town's greeting was to smile and respond, "Hello!" What did that mean? The culturally acceptable response was to scream and run away. Where did he come from, that he didn't know basic manners?  
  
"I'm Carlos," the man said. "My team and I are very excited to be here in Night Vale!"  
  
Carlos. The name wasn't familiar, yet somehow, Earl could taste it on his tongue, as if he had said it many times, or would say it many times. He swallowed.

He'd never felt so... _connected_ to someone other than Cecil before. And yet he _had_ felt this, for this man. He was sure of it.  
  
But when?  
  
Was this man in Earl's future? Was he in a past Earl had forgotten, the way Cecil had forgotten Earl? Would Earl remember this man someday?  
  
Would he someday get to remember him permanently, or would he forget again?  
  
Was it even worth worrying about?  
  
Cecil's gasp was audible, even from this far across the room. Earl realized his eyes had unfocused; he'd been staring at nothing as he pondered the question of Carlos. He raised his gaze to the scientist just in time to catch the tail end of what looked to have been an absolutely incredible grin.  
  
Earl felt an odd rushing of blood in his ears. He glanced over to the pool of reporters and noted that his childhood friend was staring open-mouthed at the man at the podium. Cecil's eyes may as well have turned into hearts.  
  
_Huh_ , he thought, _I guess we have similar taste_.


	2. A Forgotten Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Earl finds himself in a confusing situation.

Earl jerked backward, raising a hand to his mouth. His fingertips lightly brushed against swollen lips. "Um," he said, blinking slowly, eyebrows knitting as he stared at a face that was, for some reason, inches from his own. "Carlos?"

"What is it?" A questioning look swept over the scientist's handsome features. "Are you okay?"

"Were we--were we just kissing?"

Carlos cocked his head to the side, looking confused. Then, "Oh," he breathed. His eyes widened, and he grinned, then he frowned, but then he was grinning again. "Oh!" he repeated. "Is this--this is one of those memory things, isn't it?" The scientist leaned in, gazing at Earl intently. "This has never happened before! Well, not that I can remember, anyway. You know who I am, though?"

Earl bent backward slightly, recoiling from the other man. "Yes?" he said tentatively. "You're--you're that scientist."

"Yes, I am a scientist," Carlos confirmed. "Do you remember anything else? Wait! Let me get a clipboard! And I want to take some readings..."

As Carlos stood, stepped away, and began digging through the mess of papers and electronics equipment on a nearby desk, Earl carefully took stock of his environment. This was some sort of laboratory, and he was sitting on a lab stool. Carlos had also been sitting on a lab stool. They were surrounded by beakers and flashing lights. There were two obvious exits.

The scientist bustled back over and hopped up onto his stool, propping a clipboard on his knee and pointing a black box with blinking indicators in Earl's direction. There was a pencil in his other hand, and he began scribbling something on the clipboard. This seemed off, but Earl couldn't figure out why.

"Okay," Carlos said, finally looking back up. "So you don't remember coming over here today?"

"No," Earl said suspiciously. "Did you do something to me?"

Carlos' penetrating gaze suddenly faltered, and the scientist glanced away with a small smile. "Um, not _yet_ ," he said.

"What?" Earl's voice leapt an octave. What did _that_ mean? What was the scientist planning?

"Sorry!" Carlos squeaked. "That was unprofessional! I don't want to contaminate the results. Just--just tell me what you remember about me."

Earl felt vulnerable, perched on the lab stool like this. He stood. "I don't know what I'm doing here, and I don't know why I should answer any of your questions," he said.

Carlos slid off his own stool, fumbling with the objects in his hands, finally giving up and placing them all on the seat. "You came over of your own free will," he said. "I invited you, but you wanted to come."

"And _why_ did I come here? What do you want from me?"

"Um." Carlos' hands twisted together. "I don't know how this works. When you forget things. I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you things you should know. And scientifically speaking, if I _do_ , then I won't know if you actually remember them yourself, or if you just remember being told."

Earl realized that the scientist was nervous. Excited, but nervous. He didn't know how he knew this.

"We _were_ kissing," he said.

Carlos' throat bobbed in an anxious swallow. "Yes," he said, "we were."


	3. Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again, Earl can't remember.

He was in a dimly-lit room, and he wasn't sure but it felt like he was strapped to something, and he was half naked, and he was in _pain_.

He didn't know where he was. He didn't know who the other people in the room were. He didn't know what they were doing to him. But all he could _really_ care about was wanting it to _stop_.

He was whimpering. He couldn't _stop_ whimpering. He felt his wounded cries down to his bones. Earl's entire world was pain.

And suddenly the pain moved--roiled-- _thrummed_ through him, violently. A scream tore itself from Earl's throat.

"Another one?" came a voice from somewhere to his right, and Earl realized his hand was being squeezed tightly. He could barely feel it. "Just hang on. Breathe. You can do it."

Earl focused on the grip on his hand, on that voice. He wrenched his head to the side and took in the sight of a worried-looking man with golden eyes and black curly hair. A gorgeous man. A scientist.

"Carlos," he said through gritted teeth.

"Yes, baby. I'm here."

"What--what is happening. What are they doing to me."

"Oh. Oh, no, Early. Please don't tell me--" The scientist closed his eyes and let out a breath. "You don't remember, do you?"

"Remember what? Why am I here? Why are you holding my hand?"

Earl hissed. There was an overwhelming pounding in his head, and exhaustion saturated every single muscle in his body. The pain--the horrible pressure--was backing off, just slightly, enough to allow him to clumsily gather his thoughts. He still couldn't stop whimpering.

"Oh beams, why _now_?" Carlos said softly. Despite Earl's question, he didn't let go of Earl's hand. Instead, he squeezed tighter, drawing a long, slow breath. "Earl," he said, a forced calm in his voice, "there is a lot I need to explain to you in the next few minutes." He paused, gazing into Earl's eyes, and though Earl wanted to thrash, to howl, he could not tear his eyes away.

"The first thing I want you to know," Carlos continued, "is that I'm your husband, and I love you, and we are going to get through this."


	4. Misplaced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, it seems like other people have forgotten...

"Hello?" Carlos' voice sounded distracted and slightly confused on the other end of the line.

Earl smiled, imagining his husband watching bubbling flasks and poring over research notes and trying to answer the phone at the same time. "Hey," he said, "sorry to call you at work, but something's come up and I was wondering if you could pick Roger up from school today?"

There was a long pause, and when Carlos spoke again, he sounded even more confused. "Um. I think you have the wrong number."

"Carlos," Earl said, "it's _me_."

"I'm sorry, but...who is this?"

" _Earl_."

"Earl," Carlos repeated. "Um. I don't--I'm not sure what's happening. I mean, unless this is some sort of joke. Dave likes to play jokes sometimes. This seems like a weird sort of joke, though."

It was fun to tease Carlos, because he took everything so seriously up until the point he finally figured out the joke. Unfortunately, this sometimes meant Carlos found a joke where there wasn't one.

"No, sweetheart, I'm not joking, I really do need you to pick Roger up, if you can. I'd call Cecil, but he's still doing that whole not-remembering-who-I-am thing."

"Cecil? The radio guy?"

"Er. Yeah. You really _are_ distracted today."

"No, I'm just...confused. We don't seem to be communicating. Earl, right? And you wanted me to pick someone up from school?"

"Roger," Earl said. He blew out a puff of breath. "Are _you_ teasing _me_ now?"

"I'm sorry. No. I'm...Earl, I don't know who you are, or who Roger is."

Earl froze. He'd been half-watching the kitchen to make sure he wouldn't get in trouble for making a personal call during dinner prep, but now his mind was laser-focused on the odd things Carlos had been saying. "Oh," he said.

Memory was an odd thing. Sometimes you forgot things. Sometimes you remembered the wrong things.

"Sorry," Earl said briskly. He hung up the phone and stalked back into the kitchen. He'd figure this out later. For now he needed to find Roger a ride, and it was looking like it was going to be him.

"Chef," he said, "I need to leave for maybe half an hour. I apologize, it won't happen again--"

"Who the hell are you," the woman replied, staring at him, "and what are you doing back here?"


	5. It's Confusing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Earl makes a confession to Cecil.

"I'm sorry to dump all this on you," Earl said. "Especially since you, well...you know."

Sitting there in his rolling desk chair squinting up at Earl, Cecil looked perplexed. And rightly so. At least he didn't look angry.

Earl realized he was scuffing his foot on the threadbare carpet of the booth. He forced himself to stop, shrugging his hands into his pockets.

"It's just, I have this feeling. Like I know him. Like I _knew_ him. Like...he's important. I...I can't stop thinking about him, Cecil. But I never _did_ anything. And now I never will."

Earl sucked in a breath, squared his shoulders, and leveled his gaze at his childhood friend. "I mean, this is a huge honor. I'm proud to be the first scout troop to achieve this rank." He forced himself not to look away from Cecil. "I'm also _terrified_ to be the first scout troop to achieve this rank," he admitted, in as even a voice as he could manage. "The two emotions are mixing inside my body, and it's confusing."

That was it. That was all. Except it wasn't.

"It's confusing," Earl repeated, because the other words wouldn't come out, _shouldn't_ come out.

_I'm probably going to die today_.

His shoulders trembled a bit. He didn't know why he'd come here. He didn't know why he'd said those things. He didn't know if Cecil would even remember.

He wanted _someone_ to remember.

Suddenly desperate, Earl leaned in to grip Cecil's arm, staring intently into his eyes. "We could have had something, Cecil," he stressed, willing these words, if nothing else, to stick with his forgetful friend. "Always remember that."

He would have thought he'd be humiliated by a conversation like this, by baring his soul to someone who barely remembered him, by confessing new love to old. But all Earl could really feel was resignation. He let go of Cecil's arm, lowered his head, and turned away to face whatever destiny awaited him out back of the Ralph's.

_Goodbye, Cecil,_ he thought.

_Goodbye, Carlos._


	6. Remembered at Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil suddenly remembers Earl, but Earl isn't in a position to appreciate it.

"Chef Harlan," the expediter snapped, "the maître d' needs you in the lobby."

Earl swiftly passed off the entrees he was working on to one of the line chefs and hurried to wash the viscera off his hands. The expediter did not sound pleased about having their kitchen routine interrupted, and it did not do to upset a bear with three legs and four arms.

The stone idol didn't usually communicate with the kitchen, so Earl wasn't sure what to expect. Had a customer finished a meal and waited to complain until they were leaving? Did a customer need Earl to explain a dish before being seated? Neither of these scenarios seemed likely, but Earl was drawing a blank.

He stepped out into the lobby, looking to the maître d' for an explanation, and suddenly he heard his name ringing forth in a deep, thrumming, somehow _familiar_ voice.

"Earl!"

There was a man sitting alone on one of the medieval torture chairs in the waiting area. He was wearing a pink Hello Kitty sarong, and he seemed to be...eating a sandwich? And now he was waving enthusiastically.

"Uh. Hello," Earl said.

"It's so good to see you!" the man said, hopping up out of the chair, the motion sending a small splatter of blood across the floor. "Oh. So messy," he frowned at himself.

"It's supposed to do that," Earl said, closing the distance between them. "You're fine." Somehow, reassuring this person felt perfectly natural, as if he'd done it hundreds of times before.

The man brightened. "Oh, good. Well. I've been _dying_ to eat at Tourniquet, but I didn't think I'd get to see you, too! It's been so long. How are you?"

"Doing well," Earl said, wondering who in the hell this guy was.

"I was so surprised to hear that you're a sous chef now!" the man babbled. "Wow! I mean, I didn't even know you liked cooking."

Earl shrugged his hands into his pockets. _What a coincidence_ , he thought, _I didn't either. Though I do seem to know what I'm doing._

"We should totally get together sometime when you're not working! We need to catch up." This guy had no problem talking, did he? But he certainly had the voice for it. So rich. Lilting. Beautiful. Earl thought he could listen to it for hours.

"I know," the man was saying, "you should come on the show sometime! That would be fun."

"...show?" Earl asked.

"Oh, come on, Earl! We could just try it one time, see how you like it. You could teach the listeners a recipe."

"All right. Sure," Earl said. "Why not?"

"Great!" the man beamed.

Earl had been in this situation before. He knew that the best way to get through it was to jump right in. The memories would come back eventually.

Or they wouldn't. But it would be less disorienting for the people around him if he played along.

"Well," he said, glancing at the glowering stone idol, "I hate to be rude, but I think the maître d' would be happier if you ate your sandwich somewhere else."

"Oh _fah_ ," the man replied. " _Whatever_. If they'd just give me a _reservation_ I wouldn't have to take such drastic measures!" He gave Earl a pointed look.

Earl coughed and looked away. Until he knew who this guy was, he was not going to risk his job trying to get him a reservation.

The man seemed to sense Earl's hesitation. Thankfully, he didn't press--though for some reason, Earl fully expected him to, and he wasn't sure he could have said no if he had.

"Well, _anyway_ ," the stranger said, waving a dismissive hand, "I'll have an intern call you later to set things up for the show." He smiled warmly, and Earl felt an odd rushing in his ears. "We are going to have _such_ a good time!"

"Absolutely," Earl heard himself say.

Earl waited until the man had physically left the premises before dashing back into the kitchen. The line cook had finished eviscerating the figs and had left a neat line of them for Earl to plate.

"So," she said, eyeing him slyly, "you really _do_ know Cecil."

"What?" Earl asked, scrubbing his hands down and wiping them on a fresh towel.

"Well, he mentioned it on the show, but _you_ never mentioned it, so, you know. We thought maybe he was trying to finagle a reservation by pretending to know you. People are always doing stuff like that."

"Ah. Right." Was _that_ what he'd been doing? Did Earl actually know him at all?

_Cecil, eh?_

Wait. _Cecil_? _That_ Cecil? The _voice of Night Vale_ Cecil?

Earl shook his head. He could feel something, some memory, pricking at the back of his mind, but if he tried to focus on it, it skittered away. He'd have to wait, hope it came back on its own.

In the meantime, he needed to figure out what recipe Chef Mason would be okay with him sharing with the entire population of Night Vale...


End file.
